


Bonds

by argle_fraster



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:38:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/pseuds/argle_fraster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up with a brother is hard enough- Porom thinks that growing up with a twin who shares half her magic may be worse than anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rydain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rydain/gifts).



> To Rydain- I do hope you enjoy this. Palom and Porom are two of my favorite characters in FFIV, and the chance to play with magic meta and their relationship was just too much fun. This is not canon-compliant with The After, but it also isn't going against canon from it, either.

It's not unheard of for children to have magic available; usually, talents of that sort don't manifest until the child is around 7 or 8, but earlier signs have been observed for as long as the Elder of Mysidia can remember. Often, they show in ways such as manipulating household objects, or warming bathwater without a fire. And sometimes, in rare cases, the parents are ill equipped to deal with children with such abilities, and the young ones are sent to Mysidia to be with people who can better handle their unique talents.

But when Head Mage Abriella finds two babies, no older than a year, on the front stoop of the Hall of Prayers, the Elder is struck dumb by the twins. With mops of dark hair and wide, brown eyes, they look no different than the other children in the village, and he contemplates, briefly, the idea that they could have been left on his door by accident.

Abriella takes them in and wraps them in warm blankets, giving them some hot milk and some bland porridge. The Elder watches as they coo and gurgle, pulling at each other's hair and crawling around the floor while dragging their uncoordinated back legs behind them. Seeing that Abriella is a competent woman and a mother hen to the Apprentices in the hall, he retires to his study and spends a blissful hour studying one of the ancient tomes rescued from Damcyan's old vaults.

It is only when Abriella screams that the Elder is shocked back into reality. His mind is awhirl as he quickly makes his way down to her chambers again; there could be an attack, a raid, a horde of monsters coming in through the back windows, near the gardens. His heart is in his throat by the time he makes it to the door and pauses in the doorway.

Abriella is pressed up against the back shelves, one hand over her heart as if she's overtaken by flutters. She's staring at the babies on the floor. It takes a moment for the Elder to realize that the hem of her robes are singed and brown.

"What happened?" he demands.

"The boy," Abriella stammers. "He- he cast Fire."

They are young to have such talents. The Elder leans close to the boy, who is chewing on his sister's finger without a care, and reaches in to run his fingers over the child's forehead.

"Just relax," he tells the child, when large, wide eyes turn to him. "I'm just going to-"

The boy does nothing- he continues chewing on his sister's pudgy finger and letting the Elder work, but he is preoccupied and doesn't think to check on the girl.

The Silence spell hits him mid-sentence, and the rest of his words are lost in his throat. He pauses, staring at the two of them, sitting side by side and giggling. The boy has a spit bubble on his lips that pops when he blows a raspberry.

Abriella casts a quick Esuna. "I think perhaps these children were given to us for a reason," she says, wiping her hands on the front of her robes and giving the two a sidelong glance.

"It would appear so," the Elder agrees. He feels a bit faint.

It is a small happening in the large and long scheme of things, but it is a sign of things to come. And the Elder realizes this, even as he lays himself into his bed that night with a heavy sigh.

The troubles in Mysidia are only beginning.

\--

The Chocobo stables smell like bird droppings and Gysahl Greens, and truth be told, Porom would rather not spend any more time there than she absolutely has to. But it is a favorite hide-out of her brother, a place where he can work his tricks without anyone but the Chocobo noticing, and she has an inkling that it's where he's hiding. Abriella is furious- her robes had been brand new and just washed, and if Porom doesn't find her brother first, he's in for a world of hurt.

She pushes her way through the barn, taking care to avoid the mess on the floor. Palom loves the hayloft; he claims it's his secret fort. He tried hanging a sign on it once that read "no girls allowed", and it took him two days to get one of the White Mages in the hall to reverse the Dark spell Porom had cast over his eyes. He hasn't tried that again.

He is there, bent over a stack of papers no doubt stolen from one the libraries, just as Porom figured he would be. She climbs up the ladder and scoots across the floorboards, and he doesn't look up. He doesn't really need to- he's felt her magic humming like a honing beacon since she got near the stables, just as she has.

"Are you completely stupid?" she asks.

"Not completely," he tells her.

She doesn't bother fighting him. She watches his fingers move across the notes on the pages. Palom's a genius when it comes to figuring how to work new magic, but he's pretty awful with reading. So far, the Head Mages haven't caught on to his stumbling. Porom knows it's only a matter of time until they do, and she has to deal with Palom's ridiculous wounded pride for weeks.

"What are you doing that set Abriella's robes on fire?"

Palom snorts. "Side effect. Wasn't meaning to- she got in the way."

"Palom, if you practice your dumb tricks in the hall, this kind of thing is going to happen," Porom says. She tries to keep the nagging whine out of her voice, but when dealing with her brother, it's always hard. Mage Trix says that Porom has all the makings of a wonderful teacher, and Porom is inclined to do anything else just out of spite.

Her brother looks up, finally meeting her gaze, and there's a smirk on his lips that is decidedly evil.

"But look what I found," he says, and pushes the papers towards her. The parchment is old and crackling and wrinkling at the edges; the corners turn up like rolls of ribbon. Porom peers down at it and scans the text scrawled in half-faded ink.

"It's a spell," she says.

"Duh," Palom replies. "Thank you for that wonderful deduction."

It's easy to _spark_ him through the connection, and he yelps, rubbing at his arm with a scowl. Porom keeps reading, because while Palom's methods are always lacking in finesse- and legality- the scrolls in front of her are actually rather interesting.

"This is really old," Porom says. She doesn't mean to lower her voice, but something about the whole thing just makes her feel like she should be reverent. She's holding in her hands papers that may just help them master a new form of magic. "And it would take years to get, Pal, I don't think we have this kind of power available-"

"We can do anything," Palom interrupts. He's still smarting, but her enthusiasm about his find has helped his annoyance to lessen, at least.

It may be true, but Porom knows better than to overestimate their abilities. "But it would still take us forever to learn this, don't you see? We'd have to actually manipulate the magic, maybe starting with your Fira spell."

"But we could," Palom says, and his eyes are very bright when he leans in. "You know we could."

Porom pushes the papers away. There is noise outside the stables, and she knows it's Abriella come to find them. Palom will be punished again for using magic without the watchful eye of a Head Mage, and she would rather be somewhere else when the lecture comes.

"You're going to be cut off from the library again," she tells him sternly.

"So you can go and get me books," Palom shrugs.

From beyond the barn, there is a thud, and Abriella's booming cry of, "Palom! You get down here right now and answer to the Elder! I will not ask you again."

Palom is silent, and Porom wonders if he's going to try and hide.

 _You really can't get out of this one,_ she thinks at him. She feels his snort of disdain through the trembling bond, but the tension lessens, and she knows she's won. With a heavy sign and a pointed look- that Porom has grown used to ignoring- Palom climbs down the ladder to answer to Abriella. He ends up with a wallop to the side of his head and another lecture from the Elder on unadvised magical activity, and he's so mad that night that they both completely forget about the scrolls in the hayloft.

\--

Then Cecil arrives and takes them to Mt. Ordeals, and Porom dreams of zombies and undead fiends every night, waking in cold sweats to feel Palom's mirrored fear through the magic. It isn't until they cast Twin Break that the dreams stop, but even after the Elder has reversed the petrification, Porom can sometimes smell the rotting flesh just before she wakes.

It's difficult to ignore, even in daylight, when the vestiges of the dream recede to the back of her mind.

\--

Things move quickly in the newly rebuilt world. Mysidia is suddenly gripped with an influx in those interested in learning the magical arts, and there are always trade negotiations and treaty arrangements and dignitaries arriving in the dead of night that must be welcomed. Porom and Palom are thrust into the spotlight because of their help with Cecil; by the age of 10, Porom is given her own classroom of Apprentices to teach, and her class is the fastest to learn the workings of Cure.

Palom only burns the Elder's robes twice before they hit 12. Porom considers this quite an accomplishment.

\--

Three days after their thirteenth birthday, Palom disappears again, and Porom is charged with going to find him. He hasn't used the hayloft for years- preferring instead places that drove the Elder absolutely crazy, like the bedrooms of the other students in the village- but when Porom fails to track him down in any of his usual spots, she heads towards the stable with a long-suffering sigh.

The barn still smells like Chocobo, and Porom swears the smell has become even stronger in her absence. The ladder feels less stable under her weight, but perhaps it isn't age, and is the fact that she's gotten bigger since the last time she climbed it. The hayloft itself is definitely smaller than she remembered it being.

Palom is there, forgotten scrolls in hand, staring at them with a slight frown of concentration.

"Why do I always have to come and find you?" Porom sighs. She doesn't even mind when he doesn't respond; Palom's been moody, lately, and irritable for no reason. She feels the throbbing hum of his magic through the bond and it's coming in little bursts. She is pretty certain the reason is that they are growing up. Abriella has always said that it can be painful, and she didn't have a magically-connected twin.

Palom just hands her one of the scrolls wordlessly.

"Are you still on this?" Porom asks. She remembers reading it all those years ago. The parchment has not weathered well being left in the elements of the stable.

"I still think we can do it," Palom murmurs, distracted.

Porom reads through the bit she was given. It's wordy and long but she can feel the secrets of it through the tips of her fingers. It trembles just like her Twin magic, rising and falling with every one of Palom's long breaths.

Being thirteen is a hassle. Palom can barely concentrate on anything anymore, and the things he can are the things that aren't important. She knows this is just going to be another Minotaur spell- the spell Palom both invented and failed to materialize into being. They have a whole year left before fourteen, and Porom has resigned herself to most of it being irritating.

"If you would only put this much effort into your studies," she begins, and is shushed by Palom's swift _whoosh_ in her head.

He leans in and holds his hands out, discarding the parchment. Between his fingers, Porom watches as the Thunder spell begins to appear- sparks slip between the shadows his hand and linger for a moment on his palm. It grows and roils and soon the hayloft is filled with light.

"We start with this," he says, and then switches to think-speak and adds, _but I need you to stabilize it with Esuna._

"Why Esuna?" Porom asks.

She does as requested anyway; the pull of their magic is too strong to ignore. She cups her hands in front of his, around his fingers, and concentrates on the familiar bend and pull of the spell. Esuna is easy, but it's often taxing without a focus. She tries using Palom's spell as the focal point and can't quite find the fuzzy edges. She shifts to his hands, instead, and his magic hums beneath hers easily.

The Lightning spell bubbles and expands, tips of the energy turning white-hot.

"Esuna grounds it," Palom tells her.

 _Like a conduit,_ Porom thinks at him. She can feel, now, with her magic intertwining with his, what he meant. Esuna can ground the Thunder without dispelling it completely, as Cure would have. Cure is too powerful and too biological; Thunder is elemental and unpredictable. She's not trying to tame it, but spiral it and mold it. Instead of working against its innate properties, she's merely trying to amplify them.

"I'm going to try and add Thundara," Palom says. She watches as his brow wrinkles in concentration. It's interesting to watch Palom work when she can _feel_ him work in her veins. Thunder doubles and then suddenly, like a flame being extinguished, goes out.

Palom sits back, growling with annoyance. "You smothered it," he accuses.

"Me?" Porom gasps. "What- I didn't do anything! I did exactly what you told me to do!"

But Palom is bristling and thirteen and frustrated, and he leaves the hayloft with only a growl in her direction, stomping his way down the ladder that shakes with his ire.

 _Nice, Pal,_ Porom shoots at him as he's stalking back to the hall. _Very mature!_

He doesn't answer, but Porom didn't expect him to.

\--

The rest of 13 goes about the same, and ebbs into 14. Porom discovers that teaching isn't as bad as she had originally thought and that she actually kind of likes it. Palom discovers girls and suddenly Porom sees a lot less of him, especially when dignitaries show up toting daughters dripping in jewels.

It's not all bad, because they are still there together and no matter what, Palom can't escape the pull of their shared magic, but Porom misses having her twin as her best friend. The loss is a keen ache through her chest that she tries to smother with more classes and late-night studying in the library, and sometimes she can convince herself that it works.

\--

By 16, Palom realizes that the village girls aren't nearly as fun as magic is, and Porom is glad for the discovery. Her twin returns to her with renewed enthusiasm for mastering the spell still sleeping in the hayloft and their minds, waiting to be awoken; Porom likes the distraction from her Apprentices and goes without a fuss.

They spend a lot of time trying to get their magic to work together without backfiring- or summoning a different sort of Twin magic altogether. The Elder would not be pleased with Comet hitting the stables.

It's hard, and Palom gets frustrated, but at least his moods have stabilized enough that he has stopped taking it personally. They work until Porom's head aches with exhaustion and magical drain, and Palom's hair is clinging to his sweat-slicked forehead.

"I don't get it," Palom groans, after a particularly vigorous attempt that leaves them slumped in varying states of disarray around the hayloft. "I think we're doing everything right."

"Maybe we are missing something," Porom says.

 _Maybe the scrolls are wrong,_ Palom thinks at her.

"I think it's probably something else," Porom sighs.

After awhile and a prolonged silence, Palom sits back up and dusts his robes off.

"I'll look at the formula again," he says, preparing to go back to the confines of the hall once more. "Just give me a few days."

\--

It ends up taking him a month.

"I think I've figured it out," he says, without preamble, as Porom joins him in the stables once more. She wishes they could find a new location for their trials; they aren't 6 anymore, and the barn ceiling is close and discomforting. "We've been going at it all wrong."

"And what's the right way?"

 _You need to start,_ Palom tells her. Porom starts at this.

"What?" she asks. "Pal, you can't mean that- my spell doesn't focus like that. I have to have a target, it's instant, I can't just keep it there waiting."

Palom grabs her hands and puts them up, positioning them as he sees fit. Porom is still too confused to fight him. When he's done, he sits back on his heels again, looping an arm around his knees.

"Okay," he says.

 _This isn't going to work,_ she thinks, frustrated.

"Just trust me," he tells her.

Porom tries. She focuses on the weaving of the spell that's practically second-nature to her. Esuna whispers in her fingers and starts to spill between her hands, and she tries to freeze it, to keep it there. It's hard to grasp the edges of the magic but she manages to grab a hold of the end, just barely. It's like keeping her fingers pinched on a thread, hoping the garment doesn't unravel.

Palom's fingers loop around hers, and she can feel the heady _push_ of his magic added to hers. It feels like their other attempts, but a bit different; she can't tell exactly why. The joint spell tingles all the way up her arms and sings in her veins and all of a sudden it explodes into being around them, pulsing in time with their matching heartbeats.

There are stars. All around them, there are stars and planets and moons, circling them and calling out to them. Porom gasps without meaning to, craning her head around to look, and elation bubbles over her chest and into her throat.

"We did it," Palom says, sounding awed. "Por, we did it, _we did it-"_

It's not fully-formed and it's unstable and shaking, but it's _there_ , it's wrapped around them and moving inside them and Porom laughs, giddy and breathless.

 _It works, it works, it works,_ Palom's voice says in her head.

Porom leaps forward and wraps her arms around his shoulders, and they both laugh until they can't breathe anymore, and the spell has dissolved into nothing.

\--

Porom knows they have their work cut out for them. Stabilizing the spell and figuring out the exact formula will take months, and getting more power channeled into it will take even longer, but there's something to be said about victory. It makes them both far more willing to work on it.

There's a little bit of selfish pride there, too, when Palom turns down the latest visiting prince's beautiful daughter to work on the spell with Porom instead. She knows she won't get her brother forever, but she's glad, fiercely so, that for at least a while longer, they are still together. They are still _them._

And the shared magic still hums between them, smug and waiting, like it always has.


End file.
